By Wise Council You Shall Make Your War
by Beer Good
Summary: In each generation, a Slayer is born. In 1917, that was a young woman named... Bob? Good thing the Watcher's Council have an auxiliary member already in place in the trenches.


**Title:** By Wise Council You Shall Make Your War  
><strong>Author:<strong> Beer Good  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Buffyverse/Blackadder Goes Forth  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~700  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG13  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Written for **snickfic**'s crackficathon and the prompt "Blackadder crossover - Bob the Vampire Slayer".  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> The concept of Vampire Slayers and Watchers belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The _Blackadder_ characters belong to Ben Elton, the BBC, and various others. Roderick Spode belongs to the estate of PG Wodehouse. If I make any money off this, let my spine be broken in six places.

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><p><strong>By Wise Council You Shall Make Your War<strong> AKA **Bob The Vampire Slayer**

George frowned as he slowly made his way through the latest letter from home. "Now that's odd," he said in a tone that made it clear he expected someone to inquire what was odd.

"What is, Lieutenant?" Captain Blackadder really didn't want to know what was odd, but they'd spent days rained in in the trench and at this point, he welcomed anything that opened up the possibility for him to make sarcastic comments about the habits of the English aristocracy rather than endless games of "I spy with my little eye something beginning with M", which invariably turned out to be Mud.

"This letter from my uncle Roderick."

"Would this be the uncle Roderick who sells women's undergarments?"

"Ah, now that's just a front, Sir! He's really a member of a secret society called the Watchers, who train young women to fight vampires."

"...Vampires." Blackadder honestly didn't even know where to begin.

"Well, vampires, demons, ghosts, the whole bally lot, really. Fascinating work. I'm supposed to join them at some point after the war, help organise things and so on. Anyhow, he writes that he's sent one of his girls here in order to capture one of Jerry's experts on the occult, and asks me how she's getting on. Which is odd, because I'm quite certain I haven't seen a woman in weeks, supernaturally empowered to fight vampires or not. I'll have to call him back. Pass me the 'phone, Baldrick, there's a good chap?"

Blackadder put his hand on the notoriously unreliable telephone. "Did you say this was a _secret_society, Lieutenant?"

"Oh yes, Sir, definitely. All very hush-hush, going back to the crusades or something like that."

"I can't see how it's a secret, Sir?" Baldrick looked up from cleaning his rifle with a toilet brush. "I was told when I joined up that I was here to fight the evil Hun vampire."

"_Empire_, Baldrick."

Baldrick laughed. "Oh, come, Sir, everyone knows there's no such thing as -"

Just as Blackadder was wondering if this would be the display of stupidity that would finally make him go spare, there was a tremendous ruckus outside. The door to the dugout flew open and a tall, bald man in a German uniform was flung down the stairs, landing face-down in a puddle of something beginning with M. Bob Parkhurst came leaping in half a second later, landed gracefully on the German's back and twisted his arms behind his back with one hand while saluting with the other. "Permission to enter, Sir?"

Blackadder, relieved by the interruption, saluted back and cocked his revolver. "Granted. At ease, Private. Need any help with that prisoner... Bob?"

"Thank you, Sir, I've got him." Bob flashed him a bright smile and quickly tucked his long blonde hair back under his helmet before easily wrestling his much larger prisoner to his feet.

"My, he's an ugly fellow, isn't he?" George gave the despondent German a closer look. "Who is he when he's at home?"

"This is Oberleutnant Max Schreck," Bob replied while checking his face for mud in a handy little pocket mirror. "I'm to bring him back to HQ for questioning."

George clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Splendid. Oh, by the way, Bob – you haven't seen any girls around here, have you? Possibly armed with sharp bits of wood...?"

Bob laughed a pearly laugh and put his hand over his holster in an inconspicuous manner. "Girls, Sir? In a trench? I should think not! _Raus_," he added to the vampire expert as he marched him back out into the rain.

They watched Bob climb the stairs, all focussing on a certain portion of his anatomy and the way his wet uniform trousers clung to it. "Now, Sir, that is why men like Bob will always be the backbone of England," George exclaimed.

"Right you are, Sir," Baldrick said. "And with commanders like you to watch over them, the British vampire will be safe for centuries to come. What do you think, Sir?" He turned to the captain.

Blackadder sighed and poured himself another cup of tea. "I spy with my little eye..."


End file.
